Vainglory 3.25 - Thorns and Bones

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-Plum

25 – Thorns and Bones

Ward’s feet squelched in the mud for the first hundred or so yards that he dashed through the trees, but then the ground grew dry, and more and more twigs and stones littered the path. Each step became a gamble at his running pace, so he slowed, hoping the shambling undead things that had come out of the water had given up when he slipped out of view.

Grace prodded his shoulder. “Why aren’t you running?”

“Could be traps, and I’m tired of stomping on sharp rocks.” He stopped entirely and stared back the way he’d come, straining his ears. “Besides, they’re not coming.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Ward turned, looking further down the rough, winding path. The thorn bushes grew close, but there was definitely a trail between them. He’d thought of it as a “game” trail, but what kind of game would be living in a place like the Garden Gates?

“Hmm,” he muttered as he squatted, staring into the dust and dirt of the trail where he hadn’t yet walked. He took a long, slow sniff, trying to pick up any trace of whatever creature had last used the trail, but all he came away with was the itching, dusty scent of oily thorn branches and the faint waft of decay from the lake.

“That could be a track,” Grace said, pointing to a shallow, ovoid indentation in the dirt. “Like a heel.”

“Could be anything.” Ward straightened and continued down the path. Every time it forked, he tried to steer himself toward the distant canopy of the giant tree. He couldn’t always see it because of the overhanging foliage, but he came to enough breaks in the cover that it wasn’t too difficult to find his way.

He could hear birds tweeting in the trees and the occasional rustle of small animals in the thorny undergrowth. Those sounds served to calm his nerves; usually, when something terrible was around—monsters or undead corpses, for instance—such creatures grew very quiet or fled.

To his relief and surprise, he came to a slight downward slope, devoid of trees, and saw, not two hundred yards distant, the high wall of the garden. Moreover, not too far along its face to his right, an opening led in the general direction of his goal, the tree. “Shit. That was easy.”

“Idiot!” Grace punched him in the shoulder.

“Relax, we’re not jinxed.”

“Oh no? Look at the bottom of the hill, genius.”

Ward shifted his gaze closer and, sure enough, saw a wall of brambles separating the gentle, grassy grade from the stones of the garden wall. “It’s only about ten feet of brambles. Maybe we can find a way through if we get closer.”

He started down the slope, his feet thankful for the soft soil and occasional patch of green grass. When he reached the bramble briar, he saw that it was even denser than he’d thought when viewing it from afar. More worrisome were the inch-long thorns dripping with inky-black sap. “That can’t be normal—thorns oozing fluid.”

Grace shook her head, leaning close, wrinkling her nose. “No, I wouldn’t say that’s normal. It looks particularly nasty, too. It has to be poison. Yeah, unless you can find a pole vault, we need to find another path.”

Ward scowled, imagining the hours it would take to backtrack through the dense trees and undergrowth to find another path out of the big lake clearing. “What if this bramble barrier goes around the whole place?” He could see it go on for quite some distance when he looked left and right to where it disappeared into the thicker forested slope.

“Well… Do you have an axe? A machete? Any way to start a fire?”

Ward scowled. “You know I don’t. I have my sword…”

“But you’re reluctant to try to hack through inch-thick branches with it? Yeah, you’d do a number on the edge.”

“What about magic?”

“If you had a fireball spell, that would be helpful.”

Ward backed up a few steps, then held his palm out, pointing toward the face of the bramble barrier. “Vrakkun khorvek!” he barked. The words of power snapped out, echoing through the wide open space, and a ball of ghostly, blue-white flames burst from his hand, streaking into the bramble barrier. It broke apart on the thick, thorny branches, shattering a few but not making much of a dent in the mess.

“Very effective,” Grace sighed.

Ward ignored her, shouting, “Vrakkun khorvek!” twice more, sending balls of mana flames smashing into the barrier. Smiling at the ineffectiveness of the spell, he sat down and pulled his grimoire out of his satchel.

Grace plopped down in front of him. “Care to explain?”

“Sure. You should know what I’m doing, considering your memory. Remember the spell Lisa gave me?”

“Feather Touch!” Grace crowed.

“Right.” Ward grinned as he found the page and began studying the meditative poses. After a few seconds, he grounded himself and started working through the patterns, repeating the words of power in the specified rhythm. It was an easy spell to prepare; the poses were almost comfortable for him, and it only took a few repetitions to get the words to stick in his mind. Grinning, excited to try out his idea, he put his grimoire back in the satchel, moved close to the brambles, and said, “Aeren vyre!”

Fuzzy tingles exploded in the tips of his fingers on his right hand. Ward knew the spell would work on whatever he touched, so he pressed his fingers against his other arm. The fuzzy tingles spread outward from his fingers, sinking into his arm and propagating through his body. It was a weird sensation—like being bathed in static electricity, though it didn’t pop or crackle or shock him. When it felt like it had spread all the way to his toes, he bent his knees and—

“Wait!” Grace cried.

“What?”

“Try it first, you idiot! What if you can’t jump all the way across?”

“Lisa said she could jump a high fence…” Ward shrugged, turning to face the slight slope leading back to the woods. He bent his knees and jumped as hard as he could, angling himself up the hill. The ground fell away alarmingly quickly, and vertigo overcame him as he slowly drifted toward the ground. “Holy shit!” he groaned, fighting to keep his primitive instincts from panicking. The impact was so gentle when he touched down that he hardly felt it through his filthy feet.

Spinning, he laughed when he saw he’d covered a good thirty or forty yards. “Was I high enough?” he asked Grace, who was standing back by the bramble barrier, arms folded, frowning.

“You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” she called. “What if that roc saw you doing that and snatched you up?”

The question sent a shiver down Ward’s spine, and he spun, scanning the air to ensure he hadn’t triggered another roc attack. He seemed to be in the clear, though, so, not wanting to waste the spell’s duration, he hurried back to the barrier, careful not to step too forcefully, lest he send himself floating into the thorns. “Was I?”

“High enough?” Grace sighed. “Yes, by a factor of three!”

“All right. Here we go.” Ward bunched his knees and jumped, this time not quite as forcefully. Despite his caution, he sailed over the bramble barrier and straight into the high wall of the garden. He was light as a feather, though, so the impact was gentle, and he simply let one hand steady him against the stones as he gradually drifted toward the ground.

When he settled down, he looked at Grace and winked. “Easy.”

“Sorcerers who get too smug tend to live short lives.”

Ward chuckled, walking toward the opening in the wall. “As if you’ve ever known any competent sorcerers before me.” He’d only taken three or four steps when he suddenly felt the pull of gravity again, and he almost fell as he stumbled with the sudden strain on his muscles. “Jeez! Am I this heavy all the time?”

“You only had about half a minute of extra time on that spell! You’re lucky it didn’t wear off while you were in the air.”

“Well, it didn’t. Relax, would you? Are you bitter that you didn’t think of this first?”

Grace folded her arms as she walked beside him, wearing an unmistakable pout. After a few steps, she said, “Fine! I am! I’m the one who’s supposed to think of clever solutions! What’s the point of me if I just walk around being snide? I can’t fight. I can’t cast spells. I should have thought of that feather spell!”

“Grace, you’ve come through in an emergency too many times to count. Do you think I don’t value you? I’d be all alone right now if not for you!” Ward reached over and put his arm over her shoulders, squeezing her against his side. “I’m very thankful for you.” Part of him wondered how much he meant his words. Was he just being nice? She’d been a pain in his ass for a good part of the time he’d known her, but he’d come a long way from viewing her as a demonic problem he needed to solve. She was a person with feelings and quirks, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy her company.

“You mean that, don’t you?” she asked, leaning into his embrace.

“You can tell?” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, noting the faint floral aroma in her platinum tresses.

“I can feel it, yes.” She looked up, and the fires in her eyes were nearly non-existent, allowing him to see the more natural pale blue of her eyes for a change. She smiled, then pushed away from his embrace. “Now pay attention before you set off a trap and get me stuck in this place!”

Ward chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, good advice.”

When he reached the opening in the wall, he peered around the corner, scanning for traps or monsters, but all he saw was a long stretch of flagstones flanked on either side by sixteen-foot-high walls covered in ivy vines. It was the longest, straightest path he’d yet seen in the maze of the Garden Gates. He thought that maybe, if he squinted, he could see a junction in the distance, but it was hard to tell.

“The tree is that way,” Grace said, pointing down the pathway but angling her hand slightly to the left.

“Yeah, well, hopefully, we’ll find a turn-off or something as we go.” Ward started down the long, straightaway, but he’d only taken ten steps when a rumbling, metallic screeching from behind him nearly made him jump out of his tattered pants. He whirled, hand tightening on his sword hilt, but nothing was attacking. Instead, he saw a gigantic, rusty fence blocking off the exit back into the lake clearing. It was as tall as the walls and made of thick, wrought-iron posts and crossbars.

“Guess we’re not going back that way,” Grace observed.

“I mean, I could jump it…” Ward shook his head at Grace’s horrified face. “Just kidding. I’m not trying to tempt that giant bird again.”

He turned and continued down the long, high-walled pathway. He tried to employ the careful scrutiny of the path that Trent did, but he wasn’t as good at that sort of thing. It didn’t really matter, though, because Grace was excellent at spotting the tiniest detail so long as he paid attention and kept looking in the right direction. Even with her scanning for trouble, though, something must have tipped off the challenge that he was in the right spot because, with a screeching rattle, another iron gate exploded out of the pathway before him, effectively penning him in.

Ward backed away from it, turning in a slow circle to see if anything else had changed. They were about fifty paces from the first gate, and he was getting ready to walk back to it to see if he’d missed some kind of clue about how to open or bypass the strange trap when, with a shifting of stones and crumbling mortar, a rectangular opening appeared in the wall to his left. “Is it another pathway?” he asked, lifting his sword and cautiously approaching.

“Wait, Ward!”

Ward froze, glancing at Grace. “What?”

“I heard something.”

Ward braced himself, holding his sword ready, watching the opening, and then he heard it, too. The unmistakable crunch of a boot on debris-strewn stone. He stepped back, wanting to have room to maneuver if someone hostile came out of the opening. He heard another step, then another, and then a tall, humanoid figure came through the opening. It wasn’t hard to see that it wasn’t a man or any kind of living being—it was a skeleton clad in a chainmail hauberk wearing gauntlets and thick leather boots.

It cleared the opening and turned to stare balefully at Ward with glowing blue orbs instead of eyes. As he stepped toward it, sword extended in a guard position, it opened its wide, fleshless mouth and cackled in a deep resonant voice that echoed and resounded up and down the corridor. It regarded his sword, then reached down to its leather belt, touching a small leather pouch that hung there. Ward blinked when the skeleton suddenly held a rusty broadsword similar in shape to his own.

The skeleton cackled again, lifting the sword and stalking toward Ward, mimicking his posture. Ward nodded, shifting his satchel toward the back of his hip for better weight distribution, and then he took a step and laid into the skeleton, hacking with all his might. In his mind, the thing ought to be easy to push around, thanks to its lack of flesh and muscle. He figured he’d blast through its defenses and batter it to pieces, but things didn’t go that way.

The skeleton met his onslaught with parry after rigid parry, proving itself far more durable and strong than Ward had counted on. After that little discovery, he settled into a more rhythmic attack, using the combinations and feints he’d learned in his many duels with Trent Roy and during his training back in Westview. The skeleton proved an adaptive combatant and countered his attacks. It tried to turn things around, pushing an offensive against Ward, but it wasn’t very creative or clever when it came to initiating attacks; it seemed to be better at responding to Ward.

“Ward! It’s going to wear you down! The undead don’t tire!” Grace yelled from behind him.

Ward growled, feeling some frustration building. He ground his teeth as he pushed the offensive again, trying to be clever by laying some massive overhead and backhanded cleaves out, and the switching up, feinting for the skeleton’s face and kicking out, trying to sweep its bony leg. When his foot made contact with its knee, though, it felt like he’d kicked a fence post, and he almost hobbled himself.

As he stumbled back, limping, the skeleton pressed an attack. If Ward hadn’t been a lycan with tendons and flesh that rapidly mended and recovered from injury, he might have been in trouble. He was, though, and by his third stumbling step backward, raggedly breathing, desperately parrying, his foot managed to hold, and he braced himself enough to launch a counter offensive. He growled, unaware of the red-tint shading his vision or the rushing train roar in his ears as his blood surged and the wolf awakened.

His sword strokes began to move with more alacrity; his tired muscles were suddenly vigorous, and his heavy, broad-bladed sword was suddenly light in his hand. He no longer slid on the stones, as the skin on the bottoms of his feet roughened, his toes elongated, and his toenails stretched into long dark claws. His shoulders thickened, his arms rippled with corded muscle, and he coughed rough, grunting growls with each swing, battering the skeleton’s sword.

Whatever unnatural power fueled the skeleton’s strength wasn’t a match for Ward’s savage, bestial strength. Slowly, it began to give ground, and Ward’s blade found purchase time and time again, chipping away at clavicles, carving grooves in femurs, and shattering the rings of his opponent’s ancient armor. The skeleton cackled as he drove it back, only serving to infuriate the wolf in Ward further.

Finally, as he battered the rusty sword, shattering the top third into several jagged fragments that clinked musically against the flagstones, Ward landed a critical blow, burying his blade into the undead fighter’s skull. The skeleton didn’t “die” immediately, however. It hacked its broken blade at Ward, but he was too fast, too strong in his half-transformed state. He grabbed the skeleton’s wrist, pinning it to the wall while he twisted his broad blade, cracking the skull like a walnut shell.

As blue, sparkling mist hissed out of the shattered bones, the glow in the skeleton’s eyes faded, and it collapsed into a pile of bones and ancient, rusted armor. Ward stood, heaving for breath, over his vanquished foe, and, after a moment, realized Grace was speaking. “…don’t think any more are coming. Can’t hear anything, at least. Can you talk? Your mouth’s all full of sharp teeth, and—”

“Ung,” Ward grunted. He could speak but thought it was fun to keep her guessing. He stood up straight, tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and took a long, deep breath through his nostrils.

“Seriously? Ung?” He could hear Grace moving closer as she spoke. “You should examine this thing’s equipment. How did it summon that sword out of nowhere? I didn’t hallucinate that, did I?”

Ward took several more slow, deep breaths, and when he opened his eyes, the red tint was gone, and so were his claws. He lifted his sword, examining the edge and frowning at several new chips. “Dammit. That bastard was hard on my blade.”

“Well, so were you. It takes two to tango.” Grace peered at the blade with him, frowning. “Don’t stress too much. It’s an artifact. I’m sure you can hone those little chips out of the edge.”

“It’s gotta run out of metal to hone eventually, though, doesn’t it?”

Grace shrugged. “I presume so, but…” She frowned and shrugged again. “I mean, with magic, who can say?”

Ward nodded, sliding the sword into his scabbard. Then, he knelt and shifted the heap of bones and armor. The first thing he did was hold one of the boots up to his foot. “I’ll be damned,” he said, chuckling. “I think these suckers will fit.”

“Ward, forget the boots, check that pouch. It’s stitched with runes.”

“Oh yeah?” Ward untied the leather cords binding the pouch to the skeleton’s ratty old sword belt. The pouch was dark, supple leather, clearly out of place in the dusty, tattered pile of gear. The runes Grace had noticed were stitched into the leather with a similarly dark thread, so they weren’t apparent at first glance, but now that Ward held it close, he could see dozens or maybe a hundred of the tiny glyphs. The pouch didn’t feel empty, but he couldn’t discern what was inside when he squeezed it.

“Open it!”

“What if it's full of poisonous spiders or something?”

Grace arched an eyebrow at him. “Who would keep spiders in a pouch?”

“Maybe a goddamn skeleton warrior!” Ward relented, though, and untied the strings, pulling the pouch wide. When he peered in, all he saw was darkness. He tilted it to get more sunlight to shine into the opening, but it didn’t help. Ward was no idiot. He’d played D&D a time or two in his life. He looked at Grace, eyes widening. “Holy shit! I think it’s a bag of holding!”